Making memories

When I was younger, my children would find events like that riverfront market, three hours away. They'd get excited. We'd talk briefly about it. It was likely happening the next day or that weekend. We'd just go. Now, we really don't do spur of the moment experiences. Our trips, regardless of distance take a little planning. But, we still go. Making memories and finding joy doesn't require spontaneity. It requires being surround by the people I love.

Nothing lasts forever

When I was small, I remember there was a restaurant called Burger Chef and Jeff. My Dad bought kids meals for my brother and me. They came on a cardboard tray that had holes cut out to hold the burger, fries, beverage, and toy. When it closed, it was replaced by A&W. I really only recall how much I love the floats. During this time period, Mom took us to a local sandwich shop on the town square. It was on the second floor. I'm uncertain what occupies that location now, but I can show you the exact building. My Dad preferred to take us to the local bowling alley. There was a cafe inside. We had breakfast there often. I always ordered biscuits and gravy. Sadly, that building no longer exists. I remember breakfast at McDonald's after church on Sunday. There used to be a buffet. Later, as life grew more busy, my Dad would pick up literal bags of chicken Littles from KFC after church, every Sunday. I could keep going, but there is a point to this stroll down memory lane. The point is nothing lasts forever. When a change of routine is forced, you can be disorientated, disgruntled, upset, or even angry. But, it's far more productive to adapt. Moving on doesn't mean forgetting the past. It means you have the strength to weather and ride the wave of change.

I miss the comfort of predictability

After college, I was ridiculously predictable. I would wake before the sun rose. I would put on the work out clothes I selected the night before. I'd put on light makeup and put my hair up, usually in a french braid. I liked to run and work out every morning. If it was a weekend, I'd shower, dress casually and take my children with me on a side gig or to a volunteer location. If it was a week day, I'd shower and dress predictably. I worked week days. I was always well put together. I always wore a suit. I always wore my hair in a french bun. I'd get my children up, dressed, fed, and either to my parents when I still lived close or to school and daycare when I lived further away. I always ate lunch with the same people, unless there was a meeting. I always had something going on after work. I went to grad school three nights a week. I always ran in the evening. It helped me wind down. When I lived close to home, my family watched my children. When I moved further away, I took them with me. I could always find a small track that surround a playground someplace. I've always been a work-a-holic. I've always loved to run. I loved taking my children out. I loved driving. They enjoyed the ride and seeing new places. We could commonly be found at museums and zoos, hiking, spelunking, swimming, or feeding the ducks. These days, my life is more chaotic. Sometimes, I wake and can't breathe. I no longer have the comforting order of my youth. I miss being formidable and capable. I miss having the ability and freedom to go when and wherever I pleased. I'm disappointed that my younger self didn't appreciate and took forgranted the many things I long to be capable of performing again. I can't put my hair in a french braid or bun. My fingers lack the coordination and dexterity. I can't run or drive. I really miss the freedom. 

We've always had cats

When my daughter Alannah was little girl we volunteered at the Wildlife Prairie Center. She found this little Lynx kitten after a release. She really wanted it. She honestly believed the baby had been abandoned. She wanted to take care of it. Of course, we returned it to the Wildlife Center to be re-released into the wild. 

Afterwards, I did end up getting her a kitten with stripes like the Lynx. She named it Tiggie. She was already declawed. The only things we had to do was to take it to the vet, get its shots and eventually, get it fixed. She loved that little thing. Several years passed. She got out of the house and was hit by a vehicle. Alannah was heartbroken.

We waited a little while. We got her another kitten. I specifically looked for already declawed, striped, adoptable, young cats. It took me a little while; but, I found one. It had a siblings. It was bonded to a little black litter mate. I remember we went to play with them.

We knew we wanted the striped one. There was an assortment of various colored kittens. The striped one was very attached to this one little black kitten. My daughters knew. They held on to it. 

When it was time to go, Alannah picked up the little striped kitten. I told Arleenah to pick out a second kitten. She looked at me. She looked at Alannah. They both looked at me and said "you mean we're not taking them all?" 

It was just the most sincere and innocent question. I nearly said yes. There weren't that many kittens; but I said no. They picked the black kitten and named it Angel - originally. Angel liked to pick on Tiggie, in a playful but annoying way. Angel had a name change. Our second cat was dubbed Nemesis, as in "Tiggie's Nemesis". My children have a sense of humor. 

We've always had cats in our lives except that time I was in the hospital for an extended stay. Recently, within the last several years we started adopting cats again. This time my youngest daughter Alyssah wanted to adopt FIV senior cats. She wanted to make a difference. 

She wanted a cat nobody else wanted. She wanted to give it a home. She wanted to make sure it knew it was loved for the short time it had to live. My children have always had such big hearts. I'll always be so very proud of them.

I suppose I'm fortunate

I'm the oldest of five. However, I suppose more like the oldest two. There's an eight year gap between my brother and I and our three sisters. The nice thing about having that large age gap is that we really didn't have any arguments. We really didn't have anything in common. 

I remember my mom telling me the story about her and her sisters. My mom is the oldest of three. They also have an adopted sister. This made her the oldest of four. They're close in age.

She told me after she went to college she got her haircut. She was never allowed to cut her hair. She always had long waist length hair. My grandfather absolutely forbade her to cut her hair; but, when she went to college, she cut it short in this cute little bob. But, before she did, she braided it, tied a bow just at where she wanted it cut, and had the stylist cut it well above the length that she wanted. 

She reattached the the hair neatly with that cute and clever bow every time she visited home. It still appeared as if she had long hair. This worked out for her for a really long time until this one visit. My Aunt Tabbie found out my mom cut her hair. At dinner my mom was setting the table. My Aunt got behind her and pulled her neatly, braided pony tail off. My grandfather was Furious.

My mom said she and my aunt didn't talk for a really long time after. She and her sisters are fairly close in age. I can't imagine having that kind of an argument for that duration of time with my siblings. I suppose fortunate that way.

Accepting someone for who they are is priceless

I remember the first time my dad took me fishing. My grandmother was not pleased. I was the only girl on the entire trip. I was in grade school. My brother was really young. I'm fairly certain we were five and three.

We just moved to Illinois. I hadn't yet started school. It was our first trip. My mom allowed it because we had been living in Indiana. That's where my dad's family is from. We moved to Illinois because of her job. 

It was kind of Dad's thing to take my brother and I fishing during breaks and in the summers. One of the things that he really enjoyed doing was inviting his new friends from his new job in Illinois as an accountant. I know this just killed my dad. Accounting was not his first love. But he did love numbers and he was really good at it. He made a lot of really good friends at that job. But I'm on a tangent. 

First trip. My brother was there. My cousin was there. A bunch of kids were there. None of us had really been fishing before. My dad and the other dads were showing us how to bait our hooks. I remember everyone being very eager to just grab a worm or grab a cricket and put it on the line to start fishing. Until of course, they tried it. That was just not fun for a lot of the guys. 

Me? I was a tomboy and I was invincible and fearless for the longest time. It didn't bother me to bait my own hook. It didn't bother me to fish. It didn't bother me to fish in the rain. I liked fishing in the rain. It was the best time to catch fish because they all came to the surface just as the rain stopped. It didn't bother me to reel in my own fish, take them off my line, put them on the stringer, rebait my hook, and reset my line. 

People thought I was weird. Even that didn't bother me at the time. My Dad encouraged me. He taught me how to fish, shoot, camp, whittle. I fit in, away from the rest of the world. 

I suppose what stuck with me after all these years is hearing that I wasn't normal from other adults I respected and that unshakable wave of emotions that went along with it. I remember overhearing I wasn't a real girl. Real girls don't behave the way I did. It was hurtful. I can forgive the person. I can forget the precise wording. I can't seem to shake the feeling and that look of disappointment and disapproval. Its been decades.

It always made me proud when my children pushed their boundaries. It's not that I didn't. It's that I hurt inside when I did. My children have a strength I never had. I smile when my granddaughter asks for toy cars or my grandson wants a doll or a princess crown. I love that they aren't forced into gender roles. Gender roles are damage over time. They'll eat away at your sense of self worth and your self confidence. Oftentimes in irrecoverable ways. 

My Dad and I didn't always see eye to eye. However, when I was a child, he always encouraged me to be myself. He always gave me the freedom to try. He told me it was alright as long as I liked doing it. It didn't matter what anyone else thought. He punctuated his point with several videos and photos of himself in costume when he was younger. My Dad was a dancer. 

After all this time, I've finally stopped looking for your approval. There are somethings you should never chase. You'll never receive it. When I learned to believe in myself for who I am, I realized I don't need to change for people to like me or for someone to love me. I just have to let people in.

I knew - That made all the difference in the world

I must have been around 10 years old the first time I wore real adult makeup without anybody's help, out of the house. My mom asked me about it, not because she noticed. She saw it in my purse or rather, my brother ratted me out. 

It wasn't really much. I had on very light foundation, a little bit of powder and a little bit of lip gloss. I'm fairly certain that was all. That wasn't the point. The point was, it made me feel significant. I rarely felt noteworthy.

That day was special. I don't even really remember why. I just know that for some reason, I had to be dressed up. Wearing just that little bit of makeup made me feel put together. Even though you really couldn't tell I was wearing any. I knew I was wearing it. That was the important thing. 

I think the point of anything we do isn't that anyone knows that we're doing it, wearing it or have it. It's that we know. That's all it takes to make a real difference. 

If you feel beautiful, you are beautiful

I was like every other teenager. When given advice, I rolled my eyes hard. My Auntie Rose and Uncle Tito were kind enough to give me a job every summer. I worked in their office in the billing department. My Aunt liked to give me advice. 

One of the things that she always liked to say was, if you feel beautiful, you are beautiful. It always made me laugh because I never felt beautiful. People always told me I was pretty, but I never felt pretty. Not ever. Not once. Nowadays, I'm over 50, and I realize I have that unique look that some people find attractive. 

When I was younger, anytime someone told me I was pretty, or beautiful, or cute. I always assumed they were being sarcastic. My aunt told me not to be so skeptical. She told me that I needed to feel beautiful before I could accept compliments. I tried. She used to take me to mall. She loved shopping. That was her thing. We would try on makeup and perfume. Get our nails done. I'm not really sure why she liked to dote on me so much. She had children of her own. I was her husband's brother's child who happened to work in her office. She seemed to enjoy my company. 

It's taken me really, really long time, several decades, in fact, to understand what she meant by, you have to feel beautiful to look beautiful. I think what you really meant to say was, you have to care about yourself before you can understand why others see you the way they do. Or before you can see through the eyes of other people, before you can see what others see. That I can get on board with, that I understand. 

So, here I am early in the morning doing my nails in my attempt to feel just a little more beautiful than I did yesterday. Thanks Auntie Rose.

It's easy to fear what you don't understand

When I was small, I remember my cousins had a fondness for scary movies. One night, after a scary movie marathon, we heard noises. It sounded like someone walking around above us in the attic. We were terrified. The adults thought it was just a lot of over-active imaginations at work after watching one too many scream fests on television. They remained unconvinced until my Uncle heard it. My Uncle thought it might be a squirrel or possum. They called a friend who deals with such things. He went into the attic and brought down a pregnant raccoon. It looked sad. We cried. It was just cold. We didn't want anyone to hurt it. It was cute and fluffy. Luckily the guy was of the catch and release type of trapper. He brought it all the way out to the lake and let it go. The point to my tale is everyone was afraid of the noises that sounded like footsteps made by something or someone unknown. Life is like this. You fear what you don't understand. Bring it into the light. It isn't frightening if you comprehend what's going on. In our case, we were afraid for it not of it.

If you truly listen

Our Grandmother valued the arts. She loved music that you couldn't find anywhere but could play on the piano. My cousin Odie used to play for her. A lot of the time there was no sheet music. Odie taught most of us how to play the piano. I'm going to have to say he did it so he wouldn't be the only one who could play for our Grandmother. While he did teach us how to play the good old fashioned traditional way. He also taught most of us how to play by ear. As I mentioned previously, a lot of the songs had no sheet music. We learned to listen. At the time, I thought he was teaching us how to play the piano. I never realized he imparted an even more valuable skill, just being able to listen and hear what you can't see. I've found it particularly useful when learning new things, in my different careers, and in life in general. You can't always see it. However, if you take the time to listen, you'll always hear it. He always told me of all the arts, he loved music the most. It was because your eyes and other senses can lie to you but if you truly listen, you'll hear it. He didn't necessarily mean with your ears. He wasn't wrong when he said, "if you're really listening, you can never be lied to". I believe many people really listen. They just elect to lie to themselves.

He once told me, "real songs have no sheet music just like life has no script." I think I finally understand. I just wish he was still around for me to tell him.